Trapped in Tomorrow
by brigadieretiennegerard
Summary: John senses something different about this day, it is the only one for a few months where he hasn't woken up screaming. A look into the mind, heart and life of John Watson, illustrating his thoughts and feelings after the events at Reichenbach. This story covers one day in the life of John Watson through his own eyes, and the eyes of those around him. Rated T for language.
1. Waking Up

**An insight into John's mind following Reichenbach, this story will (probably) cover one day in the life of John Watson. All I can say is I hope this does the characters justice.**

**Please note that the italics used in the middle of the story are to define the flashback scene.**

**Rated T for some language.**

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

-_Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5, 19-28_

_William Shakespeare_

Such eloquent words, yet with such a dark meaning. How the words roll so beautifully and tragically off of the actor's tongue, fluid and flowing like a river. It is as soliloquy that harbours a special meaning to many people, and Doctor John Watson, ex-Army Doctor, is one of these people.

* * *

It's been a year, only a year, but oh how everything has changed. Everything hurts these days; he is beginning to feel old, and worn (despite being only in his late thirties.) Even waking up in the morning has become a chore.

As his eyes flutter open in reaction to the early morning light, he finds that he barely has the energy to get up, and within a matter of seconds a feeling of hopelessness and dread will descend on him; dread for the day ahead of him, dread over the monotony of it all. It's a sensation that will set the tone for the rest of the day; and he hates it, hates it with his entire existence.

Sooner or later however, he comes too, and somehow manages to roll out from under the covers and blankets. As his feet hit the warm floor, he feels a dizziness takeover, the kind that comes when you sit up to suddenly. The curtains have been drawn; outside it is a bright and beautiful day. John can hear the birds chirping as he makes his way over to the bathroom, his feet pattering lightly on the soft carpet. It is a scene that stands out in stark contrast with his emotions. His feet soon transition onto the cool tile floor, letting him know that he has finally reached the bathroom. John then turns on the tap, and letting the cold water run down his hands for a few seconds before splashing his face in it. John finds it irefreshing if nothing else, and it leaves him feeling a slight bit more alive.

As John dries off his hands and peers up at his reflection in the mirror, he barely recognizes what he sees there; an empty shell of what used to be a man, a man who took joy in his life. He stares for a while, just like he does every morning, at the beads of water that trickle gently down his face, and at the dark lines under his eyes. John looks so tired, the shine in his eyes is gone, and all remnants of hope, and joy have been completely wiped from his face. The picture today is no different from what he sees every morning, and he can see now why people take such pity on him.

His mind wanders back to a moment that makes him grit his teeth in pain, and loss, and suddenly he is there again, at the funeral.

(Flashback)

_John stands in the bleak cemetery at the equally bleak funeral, wondering how much longer he will be able to hold back his tears, how long until he just breaks down and loses it, until he is transformed into a sobbing mess? He gives himself five minutes at the most. As he stares blankly at the scene in front of him, people walk by looking at him with a mix of concern, pity, and nervousness. John knows what this is, they're probably worried that he will kill himself too. He could recognize that facial expression anywhere; he's seen plenty of it over the past few weeks._

_He despises the needless attention that people give him, he can see the pity deep down in their eyes. John does not like to play the victim, he doesn't need their help, in his mind he doesn't need anyone's help right now, just for them to leave him be._

_He knows that he shouldn't be so cynical; John hates himself for snapping at Mrs. Hudson whenever she expresses concern for him._

_They only do it because they care, that's the only reason any of them do it. 'Poor little John' he supposes they must say 'Poor helpless John, who needs our help because he can't sort out his own fucking life.' It makes him want to be sick, he doesn't like to play the cynic any more than he likes to play the victim, but they force him to, they push him to those extremes, and that is something that John will never be able to comprehend._

_John is aware of someone walking over to him, Lestrade._

_"How are you John? It can't be easy dealing with all of this. I just want to let you know that I'm very sorry for your loss, and if you ever need anything don't hesitate to call" The words are spoken with genuine concern, yet they ring emptily in John's ears, except for one part 'How are you John?'_

_'How the hell do you think I am' John wants to say. 'My best friend just killed himself, and I could have saved him. How the hell do you expect me to react, like some heartless bastard?' but John says none of these things, instead all he can muster up is the feeble reply of "I'm coping."_

_John remembers very little after this, save for the tears that began to well up in his eyes. He recalls leaning up against a tree, head buried in the crook of his elbow, when suddenly a wave of grief had hit him, and hit him hard. A sour feeling had rested in the pit of his stomach, and he had lost the ability to stand. John could sense that somebody was nearby, kneeling next to him as he had begun to sink down onto the ground, eyes firmly closed, but he had been too exhausted to be embarrassed. He could feel gentle hands grasping his shoulder and pulling him so that his back was resting comfortably against the tree. A cocoon of warmth had enveloped him, the rest is blackness."_

_(End of Flashback)_

John is back to the present, snapped out from under the trance, and all he can do is stare blindly at his reflection, wondering where it all went wrong.

**Thanks for reading, please leave a review if you get the chance. Constructive criticism is also greatly appreciated.**


	2. Drifting Thoughts, From a Drifting Mind

By the time he plods in to his kitchen, he feels more or less like himself; the way he is meant to feel. A sense of normalcy seems to have returned to the scene. He looks up at the imposing cupboards; the same ones that used to house body parts, and pauses for a moment before opening it up and pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

John stands at the counter eating, despite his lack of hunger, and he lets his mind drift. Sadness stabs at his heart, deeply gouging it. But he moves on, just like he does every day, alone.

His feet might as well be made of lead as he drags them through the kitchen and out in to the sitting room. The stabbing pain comes again, ripping through his chest, it feels as though someone had pressed a hot iron to his skin.

He dares not look at the worn armchair in the corner of the room. Not because he is afraid of what he will see there, rather because he fears what won't be there; and can never be there again.

His Best Friend.

Broken realisation courses through him, bitter and seething. John imagines them sitting there laughing about something trivial, or discussing a case. He remembers chuckling at the disdain Sherlock would show for such ridiculous things, and the sense of awe that came with watching his best friend do what he did best. John would never forget the gleam of satisfaction that would shine brightly in Sherlock's grey-blue eyes whenever he found a new lead on a case, or made an amazing deduction.

He wishes he could talk to Sherlock just one last time, see his face just once more. John realises this will never happen, it is the thing of dreams, and John is not blessed with dreams, he is plagued by nightmares.

It feels as though a heavy weight had been dropped in John's stomach, when he realises that it will never be the same.

Nothing will ever be the same, and there is no going back.

With these words ringing in his ears, John puts his best foot forward; determined to get through the misery of the day.

**Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a review if convenient, constructive criticism is also quite welcome.**


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